


Should've Signed a Roommate Agreement

by airgeer



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, Roommates, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airgeer/pseuds/airgeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night at the Bushwick loft just after Santana moves in. A little bit of roommate bonding, but Kurt's not going to remember it in the morning and Santana isn't going to bring it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Signed a Roommate Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first sentence prompt from merkintosh: “I immediately regret this decision”.

"I immediately regret this decision."

 

“No, no, no, noooo,” Rachel said loudly, too loudly. Santana watched in fascination as the mound of plaid fabric on the couch (that was probably Kurt Hummel, she couldn’t be sure from behind the couch) shifted and mumbled something. “You can’t back out now.”

 

“I only said I would help because I woke up to you leaning over me and I thought he’d be dead. He’ll be fine on the couch, I’ll take some pictures for blackmail later, and I don’t have to undress a guy. Everyone’s happy.”

 

“No, he won’t be fine on the couch, because he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be dressed as a lumberjack if he wasn’t on the verge of alcohol poisoning. As his roommates, we have a responsibility.”

 

“A responsibility to make him regret coming home alone and really drunk, I agree. How’d he even get back here?”

 

Rachel pointed at the floor in front of the couch. Santana leaned forward, looking past the pathetic lump that was Kurt to the painfully peppy British man who’d picked him up earlier, curled up and lying on his side, dead to the world.

 

“Okay, I’m going back to bed now,” Santana announced. “You have fun trying to move them.”

 

“Santana!” Rachel hissed as she slipped back behind the partition. “Santana, you come back here right now.”

 

“Hummel managed to hang on to the same guy he started with despite being at a bar full of gays, so I’m going to reward him by not taking pictures and letting him sleep it off. He can do that on the couch just as well as he can in his bed,” Santana said reasonably, poking her head back around. “If you’re really worried, wait until your open relationship live-in boyfriend gets home from whatever he does Wednesday nights. Or _who_ ever he does. Either way, he can use his unnecessary muscles for something other than sex.”

 

“Brody’s muscles are the natural result of his intense training regimen-”

 

“And the steroids.” Santana smirked as Rachel puffed up indignantly, knowing that she was treading on thin ice but too irritated at still being awake to care. “Go back to bed, they’re fine. If there hasn’t been puke by now, there won’t be.”

 

Rachel threw up her hands in exasperation and retreated to her bedroom area, flicking the lamp off as she went. Santana climbed back underneath her covers with a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and snuggling down.

 

An hour later (or maybe five minutes), she threw them off and sat up, frustrated. Sleep wasn’t returning, and she had things to do in the morning. Walking around with bags under her eyes wasn’t one of them.

 

She felt pretty confident in blaming Kurt, and if waking him up to take incriminating photos of the plaid shirt he was currently drooling all over would also count as checking on him she certainly didn’t care. Not even a little.

 

Santana grabbed her phone off the nightstand, creeping out as quietly as she could. “Kurt,” she whispered, prodding his shoulder, holding her phone light on him with her free hand. He didn’t move, so she poked a little harder, grabbing a handful of the enormous plaid shirt and shaking him. “Kurt, you need to wake up.”

 

When he finally stirred, it was to vaguely flinch away from the light and promptly fall back asleep. Santana would’ve been worried, but he’d been just as hard to wake when sober. She’d spent her first night in the apartment on the couch, up until she’d woken up the second time from an uncomfortable lump pressing into her spine and weighed her options. Of the two beds in the apartment, the one without a straight boy in it had come out on top, but she hadn’t been able to wake Kurt up to tell him that. His outraged squawk in the morning and his hilariously martyred attitude during their bed shopping trip had more than made up for the lost sleep, though.

 

She gave up shaking him, flipping to the camera on her phone and snapping photos, the flash painfully bright in the dim room. She got good photos, though, the oversized shirt covering the outfit he’d spent an hour deliberating over (at least, that was just how long his singing had been replaced by non-musical “hmmms”, why didn’t they have walls?) and his hair absolutely destroyed. He looked more like a hipster than a lumberjack, really, but the image of him trying to cut down a tree was funny enough that she was willing to roll with it.

 

“Santana?”

 

She fumbled her phone slightly as she tried to tuck it away as quickly as she could. Kurt peered up at her, bleary-eyed and frowning in the dim light from the streetlamps. “What are you doing?”

 

“You were passed out on the couch,” she said, recovering smoothly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“’m fine,” he slurred, already dropping off again.

 

“Well, good. I’m going back to bed.” Santana started her retreat, and it was a good thing she did, because he flung his hand up to where she’d been standing a second later.

 

“Thanks, ‘ntana,” he whispered. “You’re a good roommate.”

 

His hand dropped again, hitting his hip with an audible thud. She would have laughed, but her heart felt oddly warmed. Not warmed enough to delete the pictures, but maybe they could discuss who she sent them to.

 

“I knew you cared,” Rachel said smugly.

 

Santana jerked around in shock, and she really did drop her phone that time. She used the time to retrieve it from the floor to recover. “Do not, I just wanted the pictures.”

 

“You’re such a liar!” she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear and bouncing happily. “You were checking on him.”

 

Santana didn’t dignify that with a response, sweeping into her room and getting back into bed.

 

And if she was smiling as she fell back asleep, no one had to know.

 

***


End file.
